Blaze Claymore in: Midnight in the Garden of Love and Hate

INT. CAR – EVENING – APRIL 11, 2025

We fade up to a shot between the front seats of a car, staring out through the windshield into seeming nothingness until a pair of headlights turn on, casting spotlights on a large brick wall.

It begins to rain - light at first, but then steady.

Woman’s Voice: Clay what are we-

Man’s Voice: Shh.

A set of keys to a Nissan Sentra sway in the ignition, the ‘Enterprise Rent-A-Car’ tag bobbing like a dead weight.

Chalk white hands with dried blood on them grip the steering wheel briefly before one reaches up and adjusts the rearview mirror, angling it down until a pair of bloodshot blue eyes appear. The owner - owners - of those eyes lean back in the driver’s seat of the Sentra and let out a sigh that has been building up like Ol’ Faithful, just ready to explode.

A tremor rides through the steering wheel, brief — like a twitch of muscle memory — but it’s gone before it can finish the thought. Then .. silence. Only the swish of the windshield wipers.

Back. Forth. Left. Right. Back. Forth.

Through the left side window a pair of red lips and the edges of silver earrings are reflected back in the car’s side view mirror.

Man: He should have never gotten involved.

The face in the left mirror turns so we see the back of a woman’s head. She has dark brown, almost black hair. A hand with perfectly manicured applique nails runs through the strands.

Woman: You mean the father?

The eyes in the rearview mirror twitch slightly, but the voice doesn’t answer.

Woman: Well - you can appeal or something right? I know it’s professional wrestling, but there are rules, right? They just can’t-

Man: The damage is done. He ruined it… sabotaged it.

The man’s voice has the tenor of a beast’s growl and the whine of a wounded animal - something that can only be described as the sound of a fight for survival.

A woman’s arm reaches across the windshield frame, landing lightly on the man’s shoulder, as we see Sonja Cuchilla lean in and look at the owner - owners - of the bloodshot eyes.

Man: There were two men once, who had wonderful gardens. Two gardens of flowers that went on as far as the eye could see.

Sonja watches intently as the beast begins to speak.

Man: But, both gardens were beset by problems. Weeds started to take root, and there were infestations of insects and diseases. The gardens started to turn putrid.

Hand grip the steering wheel once again as the sound of the windshield wipers drones in the background. The man does not look at Sonja, his eyes do not move from their original position, staring out toward the wall.

Man: One man fought to save his garden, because he could never forget how it once was. Every day he cut the weeds, and killed the insects. Fought the diseases.

A pause.

Man: That man never had a beautiful garden again.

Sonja reaches over and moves her hand from the man’s shoulder to one of the hands on the steering wheel. We see a twitch. Involuntary. The wounded animal; struggling.

Man: The other man plowed his garden under. He plowed it under the soil. He started over…

Sonja Cuchilla: What’s that from?

We see the man’s face finally, as he turns and leans toward Sonja. Blaze Claymore. He doesn’t answer at first; the windshield wipers whisper back and forth, slicing the silence… then:

Blaze Claymore: The first screenplay for Se7en. Andrew Walker.

A pause.

Sonja Cuchilla: You have a monologue from an original script memorized like that? How?

Blaze lets out a dry laugh.

Blaze Claymore: You tend to have a lot of time on your hands when you’re in the middle of nowhere and seen as a nobody.

As much as she wants to push, she doesn’t. For fear of waking the beast. She simply grips Blaze’s hand and squeezes.

Sonja Cuchilla: You’re no John Doe. You’re Blaze fucking Claymore. You hear me? And that tirón culo gordo and his puta of a daughter don’t have a fraction of the talent or courage to play “Man Who Gets Kicked By Juan Jaula” in Lucha Morta, Amor Inmortal.

Blaze blinks for a second and then bursts out laughing. A real laugh this time. Sonja sighs, relieved, as Blaze reaches down and puts the car in reverse as he looks at the digital clock display on his rental car.

Blaze Claymore: Looks like there’s still a lot of evening left. Want to go catch a movie?

Sonja taps her finger to her lips, feigning a tough decision.

Sonja Cuchilla: What kind of movie?

Blaze looks up into the rearview mirror as the car begins to move backwards, locking eyes with himself once again and then narrowing his gaze, ever so slightly, before his eyes open back up and we catch the hint of a smile.

Blaze Claymore: I think I’m in the mood for… revenge.

FADE OUT.